


Like a Rock

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Falls, Fear of Flying, Gargoyle Grunkle Stan, M/M, Monster Falls AU, Sphinx Grunkle Ford, Teen Stans, ford's cute toe beans, like so tiny, stan is a woobie, the slightest hint of stancest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:19:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: "Ford helps Stan learn to fly."





	Like a Rock

“Stan, you don’t have to,” Ford says, standing close by his shaking brother. Stan keeps opening his wings and then resettling them, the rasp of stone against stone is muted by the wind that blows in from the ocean, cold and salty. 

“Ya heard Pops,” Stan says, inching closer to the edge of the pier. “I-it ain’t natural.” A strong gust of wind startles him back with a yelp. Ford sighs, rounded ears flicking back.

“It’s okay if you don’t fly, Stan.” Ford places a paw on his brother’s tense shoulders, the roughness of his skin like the rocks in the tide pools but sun warmed. Stan shakes his head violently.

“It don’t make no sense, Ford! How’s a rock gonna fly? Even I ain’t that stupid!” Stan scowls and kicks at the wood beneath them, scuffing the pier. 

“It’s about lift, Stan. And most of it’s instinct!” Ford lets his own wings stretch out, bright feathers contrasting starkly against his brother more batlike wings. Stan’s wings clamp tight to his body. Ford bumps Stan shoulder to shoulder; a quick, subtle head-butt. “I can show you! I’ll go first.” Ford takes a few quick steps to the edge of the pier before he feel a heavy, warm hand clasp his tail and pull. “Ow! Stan!”

“Ford, you can’t! You’ll fall and then you’ll get wet and you’ll drown, Ford.” Ford turns around, eyes unimpressed but softening when he sees Stan’s honest terror. 

“Stan, you and I both swim.”

“Y-yeah, but the shock o’ fallin’!” Stan tugs his tail again and Ford scowls.

“Stop that!” He smacks Stan’s hand away. Stan lets go and transfers his nervous fingers to pull one of his wing in front of him picking at the membrane. “Stop  _ that. _ ” Ford lightly smacks at Stan’s hands again. “If you keep poking holes in yourself you’ll never fly!” 

“I ain’t gonna fly anyway! It’s stupid.” Stan rolls his shoulders up, wing snapping back flush to his back.

“You  _ can _ fly, Stan.” Ford groans. “We’ve been over this.”

“Don’t see Pops’ fatass flyin’,” Stan grouses, scowling at the wooden slats beneath them.

“Stanley!”

“What?” 

“That’s our father!” Ford hisses, hackles rising as he nervously glances around though he knows this place is deserted. 

“Whatever,” Stan grumbles. “This is stupid.”

“You’re not even trying!” Ford says, exasperated, running claws through his juvenile mane. 

“‘Cause it’s stupid!” Stan crosses his arms. 

“Gah!” Ford shouts and turns, fur on end and feathers itching. “Just watch me!” And he takes off, ignoring Stan’s panicked shout.

“Ford, don’t!” But Ford’s worked his wings, he doesn’t have much room to warm them up and really get the proper lift, but he should have enough for takeoff. It's a clumsy departure from the ground, his wings working overtime and out of synch. He can barely hear Stan’s fussing and pacing on the dock. Ford couldn't fly long at this altitude so he quickly lands from what was essentially a hover. He turns with a grin. The small victory against gravity always a little heady. His smile falters when he sees Stan furious scowl.

“What?”

“Forget it,” Stan snarls after a long pause and turns on his heel. Ford scowls and chases after him.

“What is your problem?” Ford grabs Stan’s shoulder. It's tense, stone usually just slightly yielding but now hard and immovable. Stan shoves him away.

“Just leave it, Ford.” Ford has to jog to catch back up to his brother.

“Is this still about flying?”

“Gee, Ford, when’d you get so smart?”

“Why are you acting like this.” Ford snaps and grabs his brother again. This time when Stan shoves him he shoves back. Hard. Stan stumbles, pin wheeling with a shout and he goes over the edge.

It's a tall pier. Meant for old shipping boats that were tall as buildings. Ford thinks that, finally, Stan’s instincts will kick in and he will fly. Instead, Stan screams until he hits the water and then there is nothing. Ford waits because he and Stan have been swimming for years in this ocean and Stan will resurface. 

But he doesn’t.   
Ford gets anxious.

Because Stan isn’t coming up.

“I swear, Stan, if you’re doing this on purpose!” Ford shouts then dives. He hovers a moment over the spot Stan fell.

Stan breaks the surface with a gasp and cough, treading the water and breathing fast and quiet.

“Stan!” Ford continues to hover, unsure what to do. When Stan catches his breath and spits the filthy ocean water out of his mouth he glares at Ford and starts to slowly swim to the pier. He latches one of the supports. Ford’s wings are beginning to tire so he flies back up to the pier’s surface, leaning over the edge to watch his brother. “Are you okay?” He calls. Stan coughs again before looking up at Ford.

“Just peachy!” He shouts before shaking himself and starting to climb up the support, claw leaving gauges and scrapes. Ford scrambles back when Stan hoists himself up, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Ford murmurs, reaching out to touch his brother, something reassuring. Stan grunts but lets Ford rest a hand on his shoulder. 

“I don’t think I can fly, Ford.” Stan whispers, shaken and shrinking under Ford’s paw. “Sometimes...sometimes I think,” Stan reaches up to yank at his hair, a horn. “Hell, Ford, sometimes I wish my wings would get torn right off.” Ford gasps.

“Stan, no! You can’t--you can’t really want that!” Ford steps to look at his brother. Stan glares at the ground, shoulders hunching forward.

“Be better off,” he grumbles.

“Stan.” Ford grabs his brother in a hug. “I don’t care if you never fly. Heck, I’ll walk with you everywhere! But, please, never say that again.” Ford squeezes until Stan finally hugs him back. 

“Okay, Ford.” He says into Ford’s neck. “But yer feet’ll hurt.” Ford laughs, doesn’t want to but he does.

“Then you better learn how to message them.” Ford replies and feels Stan smile into his neck.

“Cute little toe-beans.”

“Stan.”

“Gonna squish ‘em.” Stan grabs a paw and thumbs one of the soft pads there, nowhere near as catlike as his feet.

“Then you’d have to carry me everywhere.” Ford murmurs. Stan snorts against his shoulder.

“I’d do it.” He draws back, rough, stony hand still holding his paw. “I’d carry you anywhere.” He’s dead serious. Ford’s whiskers twitch, his ear swivel. He knows his tail is straight up. 

“Sap,” he says instead of “I know” and “Me, too.” Stan chuckles, the deep, gravelly rumble that feels like a purr.

“Only for you, Pointdexter,” Stan sighs. “Only for you.”


End file.
